


Elixir d'Amour

by Naadi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naadi/pseuds/Naadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asteria Greengrass has a love potion and Draco is her target, but the outcome is unexpected – well, to some people, anyway. ;-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elixir d'Amour

**Author's Note:**

> I’m using the spelling of Asteria as written in JKR’s family tree, just because it’s so much more fun for Draco to abuse. Written for the Smoochfest on LJ in 2009 for the following prompts: Time-period / theme: Hogwarts era - 8th year. Place: The Forbidden Forest or the lake. Object / word prompts: Love potion, letter, rain, roses, moonlight, whispers. Action: Harry and Draco sharing a scarf.

_Saturday, two weeks after Easter Hols, Year “8”_

 

Asteria Greengrass sat in the secluded Hogsmeade café with her half-eaten luncheon abandoned before her, hardly daring to believe the miracle of this sudden, and very unexpected, good fortune. A pale, elegantly manicured hand placed a ruby-colored vial beside her water goblet and withdrew. Gems sparkled from delicate flutes in its gracefully curved sides. It was all Asteria could do not to gape in astonishment.

“Take it quickly, dear, and put it away,” said her companion. “It would not do to be seen with it, you know.”

“Y – yes, of course,” she said, picking up the vial with awe, visions of the position and wealth its possession promised igniting like wildfire in her mind. With this she could have everything she had ever dreamed of.

“Three drops in a cup of tea should be sufficient.”

With the utmost care Asteria placed the vial in her small handbag, and turned wondering eyes on her benefactor. “I don’t know how to thank you. I never imagined …” Well, that wasn’t quite true. She had imagined rather a lot – the galas and balls, the fine clothes, the priceless jewelry, the immense, exquisitely decorated mansion complete with a small army of servants; luxury at her command, not to mention moving in the highest, most exclusive circles of wizarding society. And at least Draco was considered quite attractive. She thought she could be proud of him, even if she didn’t like him very much.

Her companion smiled. “I’ve known you since you were a child, my dear, and felt sure you would be the perfect choice. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to find I was correct.” She leaned forward, a sly conspiratorial light in her eyes, and said softly, “I know very well what will make my son happy … even if he won’t acknowledge it for himself. I believe, in fact, that he intends to deny his feelings entirely. Men can be such fools where love is concerned. We women must quietly and artfully arrange these things for them. They would hardly thank us if they knew, and yet …” she smiled again, knowingly, “… they would be quite hopeless without our help.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It was early Saturday afternoon and Harry was alternately studying for his N.E.W.T.s and trying to finish the last three inches of an Advanced Transfiguration essay when an eagle owl landed on his window sill. His window was open to let in the cool spring air, so the huge owl stepped right in and hopped over to his desk. Harry barely caught the jostled ink bottle in time to prevent it from spilling. Recognizing the owl, he was not surprised to see that the letter was sealed with the ornate Malfoy crest.

 _“My dear Harry,”_ wrote Narcissa Malfoy. _“I have just learned that a very unscrupulous young woman of our family’s acquaintance, a Miss Asteria Greengrass, has obtained a powerful, and of course, illegal, love potion. It is my belief that she intends to use it on my son and trap him into marriage entirely for her own gain. I have nothing against this girl personally, and if she and Draco loved each other, I would have no objection. But they do not, and I cannot allow this to happen. Nor do I wish to expose her to the authorities – the consequences would be quite severe._

_“Please do what you can to convince Draco to take precautions. You have more influence with him than you know. I fear he will not listen to me, and will not believe he could be in any real danger, but the potion I speak of is the rare Elixir d'Amour. It is guaranteed to cause the victim to fall in love with the holder of the potion, and its effects are irreversible. I trust you will do everything in your considerable power to prevent this disaster.”_

Harry came to his feet even while he was still reading. The thought of Draco being tricked like this sent something akin to panic surging through him. Of course, he would do everything he could to prevent it. Because, of course, Draco must not marry a girl he didn’t really love .…

 _No. That wasn’t it. God._ Harry sank back into his chair; fear and a sudden sense of irrevocable loss bringing a lump to his throat.

He stared at the letter without seeing it, then closed his eyes, reeling from the abrupt onslaught of emotions – emotions he’d tried so hard to ignore for the last five months and thought he’d successfully suppressed. The truth was that he didn’t want Draco to marry … any girl at all. 

At the start of the school year, if he’d given it any thought, he knew he would have assumed that Draco would marry sooner or later, to have an heir to carry on the family name. He supposed that he’d always thought that someday he would do the same. But the idea of marriage for Harry, even after Voldemort was safely destroyed and he felt free to do whatever he wanted, was something that he had pictured as very far off in the future, not something he needed to give any serious thought to now. He had been surprised, and actually a little appalled, to find that everyone appeared to take it for granted that he and Ginny would be getting married now that the war was over. He had denied it, Ginny had been upset, and that, it seemed, was that. 

But this – this was now, and the disaster it potentially represented made him realize with a wrench just how much everything had changed since last autumn. Something most definitely had to be done to stop it – and quickly! God, how much time had he wasted sitting here thinking while Draco might, at this very moment, be drinking himself into a marital abyss!

He jumped up to find that the owl had contrived to open the top drawer of his desk, and was happily gorging itself on the owl treats it knew very well were kept there. “Oi, Horus!” exclaimed Harry. “Stop that!” He snatched the bag of treats away and pulled out a clean sheet of parchment. “Look, this is important,” he said to the sulking owl, as he hurriedly wrote a note. “Take this to Draco right away. If you can make him read it immediately, there’s the rest of this bag of treats for you.”

Harry shoved the owl out the window with his note, then rushed for the door.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Draco had just lifted his tea cup and was placing the rim to his lips for that first sip, when his mother’s enormous owl swooped full-speed into the Slytherin common room, startling shrieks from a couple of the girls. It flew straight to Draco and landed heavily on his arm, causing him to slosh tea down the front of his favorite cashmere jumper.

“Argh!” Draco came instantly to his feet. “Horus!! Look what you’ve done!” Balancing the owl on one wrist, he set his cup down in its saucer and reached for a napkin to mop the wet spill off his front. But the owl didn’t wait for Draco to clean up the spilled tea. He nipped Draco’s sleeve and hand, then bounced up and down, impatient for the note he carried to be read. “Blasted bloody owl,” muttered Draco. “What could Mother possibly want that’s so important?” Horus flew off as soon as Draco took the note. Opening it, he was surprised to see it was from Harry.

_Urgent!! Meet me at the island right away. DO NOT DRINK ANYTHING!!! HP_

Draco folded up the note and regarded his cup of tea with regret. It was a first choice Darjeeling, lightly sweetened and perfectly steeped. But if Harry said don’t drink anything – in great big capital letters too – he was not going to ignore it. Harry better have a damned good explanation though. 

The girl who’d brought him the tea rushed over before Draco had taken two steps toward the door. She seemed quite upset that he was leaving without drinking it, and really, Draco thought, it _was_ a shame for it to go to waste like this. He turned back and drew his wand. With a flick of his wrist he cast a stasis spell on the tea. Now he could go meet Harry and it would still be just as perfect when he returned. “Don’t let anyone touch it,” he told the girl. “I’ll want it when I get back.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Harry reached the Severus Snape Memorial Monument before Draco did, which is what he expected, so he wasn’t worried – yet. He walked across the arched bridge to the small island and entered the gazebo that stood at its center. Climbing roses rambled up the sides; in full bloom now, they filled the air with a lush, sweet perfume. Harry sat down on the furthest window ledge that faced out over the lake. The sky was gray and clouding over, and as Harry sat, lost in thought, the first scattering of raindrops began to fall.

The memorial, which he and Draco referred to simply as “the island,” was a lovely, peaceful place to talk, or to just sit and watch the moon rise over the lake. Since they had become friends, the island had become their place to meet when they wanted to have privacy. They were the only ones, it seemed, who ever came there. 

After it became evident that Harry and Draco had indeed become friends, Ron liked to tease Harry about the “Great Fiendfyre Bonding Experience,” but Harry just rolled his eyes and knew that nothing of the kind had happened. He would have saved anyone from being burned alive in that horrible fire. The fact that Draco had clung to him on that broom, his arms wrapped tightly around Harry’s waist, with his mouth pressed against Harry’s ear had not made the slightest impression on Harry – at the time.

Though the fact that Harry had saved Draco’s life that night, and a month later gave testimony that saved Draco and his mother from serving sentences in Azkaban had certainly marked the end of their mutual hostility. Draco had been grateful. Very grateful. It wasn’t something he did well, but it was obvious he was trying and that he was sincere, and Harry’s heart had thawed a good bit.

But the beginning of friendship had come later. It had begun right here, in fact. Harry smiled. Ron didn’t know it, but it had actually been the “Great Snape Memorial Bonding Experience” and it had happened on the second day after school had started.

Harry knew that Malfoy had been allowed to come back, too, to repeat that dreadful Seventh year, but he hadn’t seen him yet. After dinner, Harry had taken a walk down to the lake, to visit Dumbledore’s tomb, and from there had caught sight of a bridge that he’d never seen before. As he’d approached it, he saw that it crossed a stretch of the lake out to a small island which was crowned with a very picturesque Victorian-style gazebo with a pagoda roof. 

Curious, Harry walked out over the bridge to investigate. At the entrance of the gazebo, he found a plaque over the doorway which read:

_Given in Memory of Severus Snape by Narcissa Malfoy, 1998_

Impressed, Harry walked inside. The sun was going down behind the mountains, coloring the clouds and the black water of the lake with blazing streaks of gold and fiery red. Admiring the view, Harry had walked half-way across the gazebo before he realized he wasn’t alone. A lone figure stood up from the bench on Harry’s left and though he spoke softly, the voice was unmistakable, as was the pale hair that was lit with a golden halo from the light of the setting sun.

“I can go, if you’d rather.”

Harry took a deep breath. He was done with having enemies. He had already determined, when he’d heard that Malfoy would be returning to repeat Seventh year, that he intended to make an effort to resolve their differences. Harry had saved Malfoy’s life, had saved him from a prison sentence, and he felt he had every right to ask for and expect that resolution. He held up his hand as Malfoy took one uncertain step toward the door. “No,” said Harry, quietly. “I wish you would stay.”

Malfoy hesitated, then with a nod, sat back down. 

Harry took a moment to look around the little building. He understood perfectly the debt that Narcissa Malfoy might feel she owed to Severus Snape. If Snape had not stepped in, in place of Draco, and taken upon himself the killing of Albus Dumbledore, there would not have been anything that Harry could have done or said that would have saved her son from Azkaban. “This is the first time I’ve seen this,” said Harry, turning back to Malfoy. “Your mother was right to do it. It’s lovely.”

Malfoy brightened visibly at the compliment. “I helped design it,” he said, still very softly. Then he gave a light amused sniff, a small fragment of a laugh. “I don’t imagine Snape would care too much for all the roses – that was Mother’s idea. But in the spring there will be lilies,” he added, more earnestly, “and an herb garden with flowering plants commonly used in potion-making. I think he would have liked those.”

At the mention of lilies, Harry felt his face go warm and hoped that the gathering twilight hid his blush. Snape’s connection with Harry’s mother had come out during the trials when Harry had testified to clear Snape’s name. Luckily for Harry, the court proceedings had been sealed and that information hadn’t become common knowledge, but Narcissa and Draco had also been witnesses at that trial, and they had heard. “Yes, I think so, too,” he replied, and was gratified to see that Malfoy looked pleased at his approval. 

Harry sat down on the bench next to Malfoy’s. “I think he would be glad to know that he was remembered well after all that happened,” he added thoughtfully. “That we understood in the end what he’d gone through.”

They sat for a while and spoke of Snape and their memories of him, both amusing and sad, as night fell and the stars came out. They talked of other memories as they came to mind, so that for the first time in seven years, they spoke to each other at length of all that had happened. The moon rose and lit their sanctuary with a gentle light, enough to see by and yet hide their faces when they spoke of things that were hard. It was enlightening for both of them to hear things from the other’s point of view. For the most part they were quite serious, but there were times when they laughed softly together.

Harry watched Draco’s face intently in the moonlight, studying the changes he saw there, watching for any trace of the old Draco, for the sneer, the disdain, the anger or the hatred. But of these he saw no sign. Instead there was a solemn reserve that was not quite shyness, and the fleeting flash of smiles that began to fascinate Harry, not only because they were so new, but because they made such a pleasing alteration to Draco’s face. Harry found himself drawn in. 

Draco, too, watched Harry, less openly, but avidly, as if he himself didn’t know quite who he was now and meant to measure himself by Harry’s responses. 

It was very late when they walked back to the castle, both knowing that nothing would be the same between them after this. In the entrance hall, Harry offered Draco his hand, and Draco, with a slow but genuine smile, took it. If they held on a little longer than necessary, neither of them appeared to notice. Harry, for his part, came away touched and changed in a way that he could not easily identify, but he was aware that his heart felt light and pleased. He smiled and dismissed the silly random thought that came back to him as he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, of how soft Draco’s hair had looked in the moonlight.

And though that was how their friendship had begun, and neither of them ever looked back, it took the rest of the world about a month to catch up with the idea and accept it. Harry still recalled that first night as if it were yesterday rather than nearly nine months ago. For him, it was not just the start of a friendship that he found he enjoyed very much, it truly marked the end of the deadly and bitter conflicts that had been with him since childhood, and the start of the kind of peaceful life he’d always longed for.

Maybe it was that delicious sense of joy he began to feel at just the simple fact that he was not fighting anyone for anything any longer, that made him susceptible. But for Harry, the friendship he felt for Draco changed again, quite unexpectedly, to something more. Looking back now, as he sat on the window ledge and waited for Draco, he knew he could trace the beginning of that change to the Christmas holidays.

It was the first week of December when word came that Lucius Malfoy had died in Azkaban along with quite a few of the other Death Eaters that had been imprisoned after the war. Rumors flew that it had been poison, revenge served up in their evening rations, but that was never proved. It was more likely that some virulent illness had spread in the less than healthy confines of the prison, and since all the most prominent Death Eaters were housed in the same cell block, it had infected them all. In any case, most of the world felt it was good riddance, and there was no investigation.

Draco had left school immediately to be with his mother, and did not return.

Harry had sent his condolences, and hoped that he had worded his letter in a way that conveyed sincerity even though Merlin knew he was not sorry Lucius Malfoy was dead. He could be sorry for his friend’s loss, but that was all. He received no reply. Two weeks went by, and the question of where he would spend the Christmas holidays surfaced, with no little anxiety. Though he was invited, the idea of going to the Weasley’s was dreadfully uncomfortable. And the thought of spending Christmas alone at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, with only Kreacher for company, made him feel sad, like an unwanted child again. It was with profound relief that at last he received a letter, and an invitation, from Narcissa Malfoy.

“We are a bit shabby these days,” she wrote, “but I beg that you will do us the honor of spending your Christmas holidays here at the manor. Draco speaks of you as a friend now or I would not presume to ask. As it is, he is taking his father’s death quite hard, and I am becoming increasingly concerned about him. I admit that I am hoping your presence will help lift his spirits. It is also my hope that we can replace any painful memories you have of our home with much more pleasant ones. I promise to make your stay with us relaxed and festive. Please do say you will come.”

Harry had given the greedy Horus half a bag of owl treats and sent him back immediately with his letter of acceptance.

When Harry arrived at the Malfoy’s home, a light snow was falling, the first of the season. The manor was beautifully decorated with lit candles and swags of evergreen in every window.

Narcissa met him in the foyer. She was mildly distraught, though appeared very happy to see Harry. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “Draco is out at the grave. He’s been out there all afternoon and now it’s snowing. I’ve been out there myself not an hour ago, but he doesn’t hear me. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’ll go,” said Harry. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring him in.”

She walked with him through the mansion to a door that led out onto a wooded pathway. “Just follow the walk. You can’t get lost and you’ll see him soon enough. Please hurry. I’ll have hot cocoa ready in the library.”

Harry pulled his scarf and cloak tighter around himself, as he stepped back out into the falling snow. It was getting dark and the wind was becoming icy as he set off at a brisk pace down the flagstone path. Winding through the wooded grounds, the path eventually led to a dark marble mausoleum in a landscaped clearing. To the side of it stood one slender figure, huddled into himself against the cold of the wind and the pain of his grief. Harry’s heart sank as he came closer, at the sight of the bowed bare head, the snowflakes melting in his hair.

“Draco,” said Harry, softly, when he stood by his side. “I’m so very sorry.”

Draco didn’t look up. “I know you hated him, Harry,” he said, his voice quiet, but rough with emotion. “And I know you had good reason. You don’t have to pretend to be sympathetic.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” insisted Harry, gently but firmly. “Whatever else he was, Draco, he was also your father. He loved you and you miss him. I get that. I never even knew my father and I miss him terribly sometimes.”

Draco sighed and nodded. “I can’t help thinking how everything could have been different, if he’d just not ….” He shivered. “I want back all the years the Dark Lord stole from me, from my family.”

Harry heard the shiver in Draco’s voice, and without thinking, he unwound his scarf and wrapped one end of it around his friend’s neck, so that they shared it. Then he put his arm around Draco’s shoulders.

Draco bore this stiffly for a moment, then he turned and seemed to melt against Harry, and his head went down on Harry’s shoulder. “I don’t know how to go on without him,” he whispered. “I wish I had been able to see him one last time, before… before he….” A shuddering breath escaped him like a sob.

Harry’s other arm came up around Draco’s back to hold him, while Draco fought down the tears that threatened to escape his control; tears that Harry knew Draco would prefer he didn’t see. They stood that way for a long few minutes: Harry with his arms around Draco, rubbing his back, giving him time and the small but important privacy of his shoulder.

It wasn’t long before Draco’s arms had tentatively crept around Harry’s waist to hold him back, and Harry had gently laid his cheek against that fine pale hair, which was every bit as soft as it looked. It wasn’t long before Harry felt Draco’s breathing becoming steady again. Still, they stood like that for a little while longer, for they were warm together, and it seemed that neither of them wished to move away first. 

And the longer Harry stood there holding Draco the more he became aware of just how nice it felt to have his arms around someone… around _this_ someone. Something more than sympathy and friendship blossomed inside Harry in that moment. But the night and the snow were falling, and it was definitely past time to go in.

“C’mon,” said Harry, softly, when he could not put it off any longer. “Your mother sent me to bring you in. She’s quite worried about you.” He tugged the end of his scarf up under Draco’s chin. “It’s too cold to stand out here any longer. We can talk more inside where it’s warm.” 

When Draco finally lifted his head, their faces were so close, Harry felt for one exhilarating moment that it would be the most natural thing in the world to kiss him. An instant later, second thoughts and Draco’s grief stopped him. But when Draco drew back from Harry’s embrace, he took something of Harry’s heart with him, for Harry felt an emptiness open up in his chest that coincided exactly with the empty space that Draco had left in his arms.

Draco kept his borrowed end of Harry’s scarf for the walk back to the house, and Harry was pleased for him to do so, because it forced them to walk close together, and each brush and bump of their elbows made his heart a little less empty. 

Narcissa had invited him again for the Easter holidays, and this time there had been a much lighter mood at the mansion. Throughout his visit, Harry had been very aware of Draco’s presence, and of a strong desire to be close to him, to touch him. If he was honest, he had to admit he wanted to know just how sweet that charming mouth would taste, how stirring the touch of those pale slim hands would feel on his skin, and an ache of longing grew in that already empty place in his heart. He couldn’t help getting lost sometimes just looking at Draco, and often when he came back to himself he found Narcissa watching him, her eyes shrewd and perceptive. Harry did not want to give her cause to regret his friendship with her son, and he became very conscious of keeping a certain careful distance between himself and Draco. 

And that was how things stood between them still. Truthfully, to say that Harry was feeling something more was a terrible understatement. But something more was as far as he dared go in naming that longing he felt now in his heart. In his own mind, he was certain that whatever this was, it was one-sided. Draco had never given him reason to think otherwise. 

Harry looked up from his reminisces when the rain started falling more steadily. He gazed out at the rippling circular patterns the raindrops made across the dark surface of the lake. And he realized now, as he heard Draco’s footsteps hurriedly crossing the bridge, that while he might prevent Draco from a sham marriage and being falsely ensnared by this girl, this time, he had no right to go further. He vowed sadly to himself right then and there that he would not go further. Whether or not he wanted Draco to marry at all was something he would have to keep to himself.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

With a sigh at his own folly, Harry turned around to watch Draco cross the bridge.

Draco was walking quickly, his wand in his hand. Raindrops slid away from over his head and around him as if he walked inside a bubble. He tucked his wand back up his sleeve when he stepped into the shelter of the gazebo. He strode forward as soon as he spotted Harry sitting in the far window ledge, and came to stand next to him.

“What is so urgent, Harry,” he said, in an aggrieved voice, “that I had to leave my tea and rush out in the pouring rain? Horus nearly bit a hole in my sleeve he was so anxious for me to read your note.”

Harry smiled for a second and made a quick mental note that he owed Horus that bag of treats. Although, knowing Horus, he was probably up in Harry’s room right now helping himself, since Harry had left the window open. 

“I’ve had a letter from your mother,” said Harry, ignoring Draco’s irritated tone. “And it _is_ urgent.” He eyed Draco with concern. “You didn’t drink anything that you’d been given by a girl, did you?”

“Just that tea I mentioned. Some sixth-year brought out a tea tray to the common room. She offered me a cup and I accepted.”

Harry looked alarmed. “You drank it, then?”

“No, I did not!” said Draco, put out. “Horus dropped on me out of nowhere and made me spill some of it, then nearly pecked me to bits, and you said not to. It’s a shame, too, because it was a truly fine tea. And I still don’t know what is so urgent.”

“What was the girl’s name, Draco?”

“I don’t know! Aster-something-or-other.”

Harry opened Narcissa’s letter. “Asteria Greengrass?”

Draco waved his hand impatiently. “Yes, that’s it. What does my mother have to do with this?”

“She told me that this Asteria has some kind of really strong love potion.” He handed the letter to Draco so that he could read it for himself. “That she intends to use it to trap you into wanting to marry her.”

Draco gave a soft snort of derision as he quickly scanned the page. “She’d need it,” he said dismissively. “It would take that and more to make me interested in her. Or any girl. Mother knows that.” He paused, puzzled. “What I don’t understand, is why she wrote to you. Why didn’t she just send the letter to me?”

For a moment all Harry could do was stare at Draco, his attention never quite having moved past the “or any girl” statement. It was just like Draco to drop something like that casually into a sentence without any warning or attaching any importance to it. All of Harry’s previously suppressed feelings surged up inside him, while at the same time, all the self-sacrificing resolutions he’d just made not five minutes ago suddenly upended and rearranged themselves into hope.

“Don’t you find that a bit odd?” asked Draco.

Harry, who had not been listening, found himself suddenly at a loss. “What – that you don’t fancy girls?” he asked, still stuck on that thought. 

“No,” said Draco, fixing Harry with a rather exasperated gaze. “My mother’s letter. Don’t you think it’s strange that she wrote to you instead of to me?”

“Oh … right,” said Harry, coloring slightly. “Maybe. But, she did say that you would ignore it if she told you. So she wrote to me because she knew I would do something.”

“Like sending owls to bite me and spill my tea.”

“Yes, exactly like that,” said Harry with a grin.

“Lucky me,” replied Draco, with a roll of his eyes, but he grinned back. They fell silent, and Draco rested his forearms on the window ledge next to where Harry was sitting and leaned out the window, looking off into the distance, watching the raindrops falling on the lake. “Do you think it’s odd … that I don’t fancy girls?” he asked quietly, after a few minutes.

“Of course not,” said Harry. “I was just surprised by it, that’s all. I never had a clue.”

Draco reached out and plucked one of the roses off the vine next to the window. He toyed with it for a moment, then tossed it out into the dark rain-dappled water of the lake. “What about you?” he asked, his eyes still focused out where the rose was slowly floating away. “Ever fancy another bloke?”

“Well, no …” said Harry, uncertainly. _Not until you …._

Draco sighed. “Ah, well, I thought not. Can’t blame me for being curious.”

Harry studied Draco’s profile for a moment, wondering if he had heard a hint of wistful disappointment in that sigh, and hoping rather desperately that he had, and suddenly it occurred to him like a Bludger to the gut, that here, right now, was the perfect opening, the perfect opportunity to act on his feelings, and he’d given the wrong answer. “I … I didn’t mean no,” he said, suddenly nervous and trying to think how to explain it. “Or I meant no, as in … I never did … in the past.” He paused again, thinking hard but not knowing any other way to say it but to come right out with it. “But what if I do? Now, I mean. I … have no idea how to tell him or … if he would be interested in me.”

Draco gave him a long considering look. “I was joking, Harry. It never crossed my mind that you were anything but straight. Don’t you have a girlfriend? What about that litter of myopic ginger brats you were planning to have with the She-Weasel?”

“The She-W … I mean, Ginny … hasn’t been my girlfriend for months, Draco. If you paid attention, you would have noticed that Neville is most likely going to be the father of that ginger litter, not me.”

“I pay attention,” protested Draco, with a grin. “Just not to Weasleys, or to Longbottoms either, for that matter.” Then he added, more seriously, “You could have mentioned it, you know. That you had broken up with her. I didn’t know.”

“She broke up with me last summer – and I didn’t want to talk about it, that’s all. By the time you and I became mates, it was over and done with.” He paused, watching Draco’s expression as he processed that information. Watched a small satisfied smile form quietly at the corners of Draco’s mouth and that gave him courage. “So,” he said, forging ahead, “if you fancied someone – but you didn’t know if they fancied you back, what would _you_ do?”

“You’re asking _me_ for relationship advice?” Draco sounded a bit incredulous. 

“I don’t know anyone else to ask,” replied Harry, with a slight shrug. “About this.”

Draco appeared to ponder this for a minute, and if he had anything more than the most casual interest in knowing who Harry fancied, he didn’t let it show. “You could always contrive to be alone with him and then just kiss him,” he said finally, a hint of teasing in his voice. “See how he reacts. If he likes you too, he’ll kiss back. If not, well, you’ll probably get a black eye or a broken nose for your trouble.”

Harry laughed. “You don’t think I should find out how he feels about me first?”

“Oh, cautious now, are you?” asked Draco, still teasing, but watching Harry with intense curiosity. “What happened to your standard Gryffindor Charge-In-and-Query-Later approach? 

“He’s a friend, Draco,” said Harry, firmly. “I would rather not offend him. I don’t go around assuming I can just barge in and kiss people and they will like it.” 

“A friend?” Draco frowned for a half-second, thinking, and then to Harry’s amusement, looked utterly horrified. “Oh, good lord, Harry! Please tell me you’re not switching Weasels, because if you are, we are _not_ having this conversation.”

“Malfoy, you pillock. I do not fancy Ron. I will _never_ fancy RON!”

“Thank god for that,” said Draco under his breath. He looked sideways at Harry under his lashes, then graced him with a devilish smirk. “Must be that … what’s his name with the dragons … Charlie, then. I can see that.”

“No!” said Harry, laughing again. “It’s not Charlie!” 

“Hmmm. Pity, that,” Draco went on, arching one eyebrow at Harry. “The dragons would have been fun. Since I am your friend, I would have demanded rides.”

And it was just a heartbeat later that Harry heard the soft intake of breath and saw the sudden flash of surprise on Draco’s face that marked the moment when Draco understood; when the word friend connected from Harry’s statement to his own, and he knew. 

Harry reached over and took hold of Draco’s sleeve, and drew him sideways into the open vee of his legs, so that Draco stood face to face with him, between his knees. Sitting on the window ledge, Harry was exactly as tall as Draco was standing. They could look straight into each other’s eyes, and Harry was quietly thrilled with the mixture of surprise and cautious hope he saw reflected in the light gray eyes that readily met his own. 

“I have it on the best authority,” said Harry softly, “that I should just kiss you now and damn the consequences. But I’d like to know that you want me to.”

It was a moment before Draco spoke, as if he was still struggling to come to terms with Harry’s sudden confession, still working out what he wanted to say. “I do want you to,” he said, finally, slowly, then paused, “but … Harry ….” He took a deep breath. “… please don’t do this …”

Harry waited, feeling a sharp knife-edge of disappointment pierce his heart. If Draco turned him down now ….

“… please don’t start this,” continued Draco, his voice low and full of emotion, “unless you mean it … unless you’re serious. I won’t be an experiment. Or something you have to keep secret.”

 _Oh._ Harry’s heart turned over and soared with elation. He felt as if he had finally been allowed to step entirely inside Draco’s guard. Draco stood before him without shields, vulnerable, touchable like never before – his heart reachable and open. “I do mean it,” said Harry, gently, gazing searchingly into Draco’s eyes. “And I’m afraid that it is quite serious.” He gave Draco a wistful, slightly shy smile. “I’ve been wanting to do this for months.” He paused, then added more seriously, “As for keeping this secret, you know I don’t care what anyone thinks. What matters to me, is what is right for us. Nothing else.”

The understanding that passed between them then, in that next intense moment of eye contact, would have been difficult for either of them to express, but Draco smiled back softly, gladly, and Harry knew without a word, that this was the answer he’d hoped for. His arms went around Draco’s waist and he pulled him closer, drawing them against each other, and for a brief moment he remembered how they had been pressed together during that fiery broom ride and was fiercely glad that he had saved this life. 

Draco’s arms slipped around Harry’s neck, and then they were kissing and it was startling. Several sunlit days be damned. This was a thousand wondrous nights filled with moonbeams and star-shine and candlelight and … oh, the fireworks. Draco’s mouth was soft and willing, and thrill shivers raced through Harry like small joyous bolts of lightning. His heart felt light and full – the emptiness he’d felt for so many months vanished like mist before the sun, banished by the solid reality of Draco in his arms. It felt so good in so many ways. Harry felt startled all over again, that this was Draco he was kissing. That it was Draco, with whom he had fought so bitterly for so long, who could make him feel this way; that it was Draco who had stolen his heart so completely. 

Suddenly the sky opened and the rain came pouring down. Harry and Draco broke their kiss to stare out at the torrent; the rushing sound of it filling the small space with a thunderous but pleasant noise. The wide eaves of the pagoda roof kept the rain from coming in the open windows, but outside the rain fell in sheets, like gray curtains all around, shutting them away from the rest of the world into their own very private romantic refuge. The sweet scent of the roses lingered too, shut in also by the falling rain.

“What a shame,” said Draco, softly, a definite hint of teasing in his voice. “It appears we might be stuck here for a while.” 

Harry laughed and kissed him again, and that was all that was said for quite a while. 

Eventually the rain slowed, and they sat in the window, arms around each other, just enjoying being together in this rare peaceful, private space of time. 

“You know,” said Draco, “this is the last thing I expected when I came out here.” Then he laughed. “Months! Are you telling me that all those nights we spent chastely in separate bedrooms at the manor … that we could have been doing this? Or more?”

Harry grinned and blushed. “There’s always this summer,” he said, hopefully.

Draco, not needing any more of an answer than that, grinned too, and pulled Harry back into a fervent kiss. Harry had a fleeting thought that he would always associate kissing Draco with the sound of the rain and the smell of roses.

“I suppose we should go in,” said Harry, reluctantly, when it was certain that the rain was letting up. “There’s that love potion business that needs sorting.” He’d actually forgotten all about it until he caught sight of Narcissa’s letter, just then, lying on the bench below the window.

With a sigh, Draco disentangled himself from Harry’s embrace. “I suppose so,” he agreed grudgingly. “I left that Aster-what’s-her-name guarding the treacherous tea.” He smirked. “And she’s been waiting _all this time_ for me to come back for it.” 

Harry nodded. Just the thought of that girl and what she’d almost done roused his anger again. “What do you intend to do about her?” he asked, wondering how one handled a person who would stoop to such depths without involving strangling or other unseemly measures.

“Don’t worry,” said Draco, giving Harry a positively evil grin. “I’ll sort that despicable little schemer out in a heartbeat.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Draco strolled into the Slytherin common room as if nothing was wrong, the angry spark in his eyes the only hint of the hidden wrath that was waiting to be unleashed. Harry was right behind him, his anger much less well-concealed. “Ah,” said Draco, in a deceptively silky voice, as he picked up his abandoned tea cup. “Right where I left it.”

Asteria appeared instantly at his side. “I made everyone leave it alone,” she said in a rush. “But you were gone so long … I … I was afraid you weren’t coming back.” She looked up and saw Harry standing behind Draco, green eyes furious, black hair sticking up in places like the wrath of god, and she paled visibly. 

Draco pulled out his wand and removed the stasis spell on the tea. He looked at Harry. “This is an excellent tea, Harry. Would you like to taste it?” 

Asteria let out a little shriek. “No!” She made a grab for the cup, but Draco lifted it up out of her reach.

He ignored her and turned, holding the cup above her head, to scan the room. “Ah! Boris Cockburn!” he called out. “You want a cup of tea, don’t you?”

Harry looked over at the boy who Draco had evidently startled out of a nap over his Charms text, and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. The poor boy in question had to be the most unfortunate looking young man Harry had ever seen. 

Asteria was practically climbing Draco’s arm to get at the tea cup. “Draco, please!” she begged, her face a picture of near-panic. “I made that tea especially for you. You _can’t_ give it away!” 

“Oh, can’t I,” sneered Draco, and he tipped the cup over so that the still warm tea poured right over Asteria’s head. “Oops,” he said, quite unapologetically. Asteria gasped in shock, but before she could speak, his wand was pointed at her nose. He didn’t mince words. “I know about the potion,” he said, his voice low and full of scorn. “Hand over the bottle. Now!”

She glared up at him through her dripping hair, pausing only a moment before putting her hand into her pocket and pulling out the small ruby crystal bottle, which Draco immediately removed from her possession. “I bet you don’t know it was your own mother that gave it to me, do you?” she said, spitefully. “This was all her idea, not mine. _She_ wanted me to marry you! Well, I wouldn’t marry you, Draco Malfoy, even if you had all the money … in … in the world!” With that she flounced off, leaving both Harry and Draco staring after her, open-mouthed in shock.

Draco turned back to Harry, and their eyes met. “That can’t be true,” said Draco, his voice barely above a whisper. “She wouldn’t have …”

Asteria turned back at the door. “You don’t believe me? You can ask her yourself. She told me she was staying at the Three Broomsticks all weekend.”

“I’ll get my broom,” said Harry, “and meet you outside the Great Hall.” Draco nodded and set off to his room to get his own broom.

Luckily when they stepped outside, the rain had stopped. A few patches of blue had even appeared in the clearing sky.

Draco was still quite upset by Asteria’s accusation about Narcissa. “I don’t understand this at all,” he protested to Harry again as they walked side-by-side down the castle steps. 

“Your mother must want you to get married, Draco,” said Harry, miserably. “I’m afraid she’s not going to be very happy with me.”

“No, I’m sure there’s something else going on,” Draco insisted. “We talked about my marriage, after Father was sent back to Azkaban. She told me that Father had intended to arrange a marriage for me after the war was over, but that he had never done anything more than talk of it. I told her I had no intention of ever marrying and why. She said she understood and that it was fine.” He shook his head, completely perplexed, and more than a bit angry. “Even if she did want me to marry, I refuse to believe she would want me to marry that… that… dreadful, avaricious creature ….” He paused. “And if she _did_ want that to happen, why write to you to warn me? See, it just doesn’t make any sense.”

Harry most emphatically agreed with that.

They flew as fast as brooms would travel to the Three Broomsticks. They inquired and found that Narcissa had let the best suite of rooms in the inn. Harry sat in the pub and ordered a bottle of butterbeer, waiting anxiously while Draco went up alone to speak to his mother.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Draco, darling!” said Narcissa, when she opened the door. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“I doubt that,” said Draco, his voice cool and acerbic. He stepped past her into the small, but elegantly furnished sitting room. “I’m quite sure you were expecting me.”

“You seem upset, dear,” she noted, doing her best to sound soothing. “Do come in and tell me what has happened.”

Draco walked over to the nearby writing desk. “Mother, what is the meaning of this?” He set the small ruby-colored bottle down on the desk with a resounding thump.

“Oh! My favorite perfume bottle,” exclaimed Narcissa, with a smile. “Wherever did you find it?”

“Don’t be funny,” he said, irritably. “You know very well what it is and where I found it.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his mother. “That ridiculous girl told us that you gave it to her, that you wanted me to marry her. I’ve never been so … so … revolted … in my life. I want to know why you would do such a thing!” 

Narcissa laughed. “Why?” She sat down on the sofa and gazed up at her son, amusement and determination, both, sparkling in her blue eyes. “I saw how you looked at Harry when he didn’t know. Oh, you hid it quite well; I’m sure he hadn’t the least idea of it. But I know you. And I saw how he looked at you, too. All during the Christmas holidays, you were watching each other with your hearts in your eyes. And Easter holidays was even worse. The two of you were moping around making little heartbroken puppy-eyes at each other. I could not allow that foolishness to continue. I decided that something had to be done.” 

“So you gave that … that … insidious Aster-girl a love potion?” demanded Draco, aghast, then his chin came up in a defiant tilt. “Well, it didn’t work,” he stated emphatically. “Harry and I are together now, so there will be no more meddling with my love life.” Then the indignity and betrayal he felt broke through and he continued, his voice trembling slightly. “God, Mother, I can’t believe you tried to do this to me! I thought you understood!”

“I understood perfectly, Draco,” said Narcissa, firmly. “If you and Harry are together, then it worked flawlessly – just the way I hoped it would.” Then she smiled and held out her hand to him. “Come and sit down, dear, and let me explain.”

Draco sank down on the sofa beside her, completely perplexed. “I’m listening,” he said, shortly. 

“It was obvious to me,” said Narcissa, “that in spite of what you and Harry felt for each other, neither of you were going to cross the invisible line you’d drawn between you, and that you both were going to let the school year end without ever doing anything about it. You would have both then gone your separate ways, and that would have been an end to it.” 

With an exasperated sigh, Draco interrupted. His first impulse was to protest that he certainly had had no intention of being separated from Harry after school, that he planned to go for Auror training with him. But he wanted to see his N.E.W.T.s and know he had the required grades before he told her that. “Mother,” he said instead, protesting the much more outrageous assumption she had made, “you can’t be suggesting that I should have started anything with him. Of course I wanted to, but I didn’t dare. Harry’s friendship was almost all that held me together after Father died, and nothing would have made me jeopardize that.” He gave her a very severe look. “And if you think that me making a pass at him wouldn’t have jeopardized our friendship, when all this time I believed he had a girlfriend, you are more out of your mind than I thought.”

Narcissa laughed. “Dearest, no one could have a girlfriend and look at you so longingly, the way Harry did.”

Draco had opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again. His face brightened suddenly. “He did?” he asked, softly.

“Yes, he did. He was making a perfect fool of himself, just as you were,” said Narcissa. “So I decided after Easter that if you were not going to do something about your feelings for Harry, considering it was perfectly obvious that he felt the same, then it was time to take matters into my own hands. It was my hope that the impending threat of your marriage would be enough to bring you both to your senses and prompt a mutual confession.” She smiled at him triumphantly. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

Draco didn’t know which he felt more: relief or embarrassment. “But if you wanted me to be with Harry, why on earth did you give that girl a love potion? I mean … I guess you planned to stop it at the last minute and that’s why you wrote to Harry, but Mother … what if Harry hadn’t warned me in time? You know, in fact, it was a very near thing!”

“Oh, my dear, all that bottle contained was a little French mineral water. I would never put you in such danger.” She patted Draco’s hand tenderly. “As for Harry, besides the fact that I intended to scare him into admitting his feelings for you, I thought he might enjoy it. He does seem very fond of saving you, love.”

Draco groaned, and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling. 

“Didn’t I tell you that all I wanted was for you to be happy?” continued Narcissa. “So if you wanted Harry, I wanted you to have him. And how could I object anyway. Harry Potter is very wealthy and if I’m not mistaken, is probably considered to be _the_ most eligible young man in Wizarding society today. You couldn’t possibly have made a better match.”

Definitely embarrassment then, decided Draco. How he was going to face Harry and explain this, he had no idea.

Narcissa stood up. “Did he come with you? We should go down and let him know everything is all right.”

Draco nodded. “But I can’t tell him this, Mother. It’s too … humiliating.”

“Ah,” she said. “You just leave that to me. It will all turn out fine, I promise.”

Draco came to his feet. He looked down at his mother, not knowing if he wanted to laugh or frown. “Promise me this,” he said seriously. “That you won’t interfere in my life this way ever again.” Then he grinned and swept her into a hug. “But,” he whispered sincerely, “for this, _thank you!_ ”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Harry was just wondering for the tenth time if he should go up to find Draco, when Draco walked into the pub with his mother on his arm. Draco was smiling and his eyes were shining. He looked excessively pleased. It was the first time Harry had ever seen him looking so entirely happy, and Harry felt a stab of intense pleasure and desire.

Narcissa walked directly up to Harry and looked him sternly in the eye with an expression Harry correctly interpreted as “hurt him and you will have me to deal with,” and then she smiled and Harry smiled back. She went up on tiptoe and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “I expect to see a lot of you this summer, dear,” she said. “Draco has told me everything, and you must forgive me for meddling. There is no one in the world I would rather see him with than you.”

Harry looked up at Draco and Draco nodded. If the look of happiness on Draco’s face was anything to go by, Harry decided, things really were okay.

“If you will let me make amends,” said Narcissa, “and you boys don’t have to be back at Hogwarts yet, I know an exquisite little restaurant that serves the most excellent food. It will be my treat.”

And there was no arguing with that, from either of them.

It was nearly three hours and one fabulous dinner later, that Harry and Draco stood outside the Three Broomsticks, brooms in hand, saying goodnight to Narcissa. After she went up to her room, they set off down the road that led back to the school, having decided to walk instead of fly. Neither of them was in a hurry to get back, and the moonlight was compelling; the bright pale light seemed to cast a romantic radiance over the entire world that night.

They walked in silence for a bit, then Harry stopped in the pool of shadow beneath a very old oak tree and drew Draco into his arms. He gave Draco a rather crooked grin. “We were set up, weren’t we?” he asked. “By your mother. I’ve just figured it out.”

Draco inhaled a sharp breath, then sighed. “Royally hoodwinked, I’d say, yes,” he replied, then grinned back at Harry, and shook his head in acknowledgement of how soundly they’d been had.

“And I’m guessing there never was any real love potion?”

“No, just some fancy water in an old perfume bottle,” admitted Draco, then he gave a quiet laugh. “I swear,” he said, “my mother could out-Slytherin old Salazar himself.” 

“Voldemort, too,” said Harry, remembering the night in the Forbidden Forest, and Narcissa’s pronouncement that Harry was dead. It was clear she would do anything for her son. “I’m very glad she’s on my side, this time,” said Harry, softly, and he pulled Draco into a long, tender, passionate kiss.

Draco’s only answer was to kiss Harry ardently back, but he couldn’t have agreed more. If ever a love potion had done its job, this one had – and no one had even swallowed a drop of it.

~ * ~ The End ~ * ~ 


End file.
